Page 7 of Something Unforgettable

How had he gotten home? Where was his phone? And his keys? He slid a hand below the blankets. The hem of his T-shirt was twisted around his torso, the waistband of his boxers where it should be. He forced his eyes open farther. There was a trail of shoe-sock-shoe-sock-pants leading from his closed bedroom door. Clearly, he’d undressed himself on his stumble to bed. That was a relief.

That still didn’t tell him what had happened the night before. The last thing he remembered was Micah encouraging him to talk to Xavier. He groaned and rolled to his other side, pressing his pounding head into the pillow. Someone make it stop. Through half-lidded eyes, he spied the glass of water on his nightstand with a bottle of ibuprofen sitting next to it. His phone was plugged in nearby. God, Micah was the best. At least, he hoped it had been Micah.

He managed to lever himself to a semi-seated position, resting against the wall, and grabbed the water, draining half of it. Maybe he could fool his sloshing stomach. He took some medication as well, crossing his fingers that it wouldn’t make things worse.

While he sipped the rest of the water, he grabbed his phone by the cord and dragged it over. No calls. That was good. Two unread messages.

He opened them and squinted at the blurry text until his vision went from double to single.

Micah

Glad you had a good night, buddy!!! <3<3<3

Finn’s chest unknotted some. That was okay. Maybe he hadn’t made too much of a fool of himself. The second message was a picture. Finn blinked at it a few times more before what he was looking at sank in. Then all the tension came roaring back. He had to close his eyes and count his breaths. If he puked, the ibuprofen wouldn’t work.

He checked the photo again. It was of the terrifying mechanical bull that they’d gotten for the party. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that somehow—and he was totally blaming Micah—Finn was riding it. And he wasn’t alone. Xavier was right behind him, Finn practically in his lap and clearly groping his thigh. Xavier had an arm wrapped around his chest and Finn’s expression was giddy. Fuck. Oh fucking fuck.

He dropped the phone to the blanket and pulled the pillow over his face to block out the world. Kill him now. What had hedone?

In an attempt to not add anxiety to his already sorry physical state, Finn finished his water and went back to sleep, adamantly pretending that he knew nothing. Had seen nothing. When he woke again, it was past noon and he had three more messages. They would have to wait. He slid out of bed, careful until he was sure his shaky legs would hold him. His quick trip to the bathroom turned into a longer one when he caught a whiff of the alcohol leaking from his pores and climbed in the shower instead. He stayed with the hot water beating down on his head until he felt human again, then fumbled into his clothes and headed down the hall for breakfast.

Finn loved his and Pops’s small apartment over the store. It was just the right size for the two of them, and warm and cozy from the decades Gram had put into it before her death. She’d been gone fifteen years, but everything was just how she’d liked it. Finn didn’t remember her all that well, but he swore her presence still filled their home.

He entered the kitchen to the fading scents of breakfast and found a plate of cold bacon on the counter. He smiled. Pops was the best. He stuffed a piece in his mouth, not caring about the temperature when salty-savory goodness hit his tongue. He munched his way through it while he warmed a cup of coffee in the microwave and scrambled some farm-fresh eggs. There was no better hangover food in the world.

Once everything was in his stomach and settled, he braved checking his messages again. One was from Micah, asking how he was feeling and swearing he was never drinking again. The other two were from Ev.

The phone only rang once before his best friend picked up.

“Finny, thank fuck. I was about to start driving my butt down there if you didn’t call me back.”

That sounded excessive, but Ev could be a little on the dramatic side.

“You clearly knew from my messages that I was home in bed,” Finn protested. He’d seen the series of drunken, incoherent texts he’d sent Ev at three in the morning. At least Ev had been the only one he’d messaged. It could have been so much worse.

“Be-cause,“ Ev said with a huff. “I need the details. You can’t tell me you kissed Mr. Tall-and-Sexy and not follow up for the next twelve hours!”

“I didwhat?“ Finn yelped, his heart taking off like a startled deer. His nausea came rushing back and he was pretty sure he was about to see his breakfast a second time.

“Hey. Hey, breathe, Finny.” Ev’s sweet, comforting voice finally reached his ears and Finn automatically pulled in a deep breath, then another, until it didn’t feel like he was sucking air through a straw anymore.

“I don’t—“ Finn cleared his throat and tried to steady his voice. “I was nervous, so I drank more than I planned.” He definitely hadn’t planned to get blackout drunk. Just enough to take off the edge of a crowded place, lots of new people, and his stupid crush on Micah’s boyfriend’s ex-husband. It was possible he’d gotten carried away—Micah had helped with that. God. It was embarrassing enough without hearing he’d thrown himself at Xavier and didn’t remember it.

He wasn’t sure what was worse: him making a fool of himself in front of all those people or not remembering what Xavier’s lips felt like against his. He shook the thought off.

“You called me sometime around two. That’s when the bars close down there, isn’t it?”

Was it? Finn figured it was close enough. “Yeah.”

“You were pretty rambly, but I caught the gist. You and Xavier were in a mechanical bull contest?”

Finn groaned. He was going to— Well, okay, he probably wouldn’t say anything to Micah. He felt like they were almost friends, and he didn’t want to ruin it. But he was blaming Micah in his head. And also maybe moving to Chicago.

“Do you still need a roommate?”

Ev laughed at him. The jerk. “You’re not moving back to Chicago. You hate it here.”

Finn pouted. “Well I can’t stay in North Carolina.” He pushed away from the breakfast table, trapping the phone against his ear.

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